


Luminous

by hellkitty



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Canon Era, F/M, First Time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-01
Updated: 2015-06-01
Packaged: 2018-04-02 07:07:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4050817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellkitty/pseuds/hellkitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Feels so weird not to have to warn for sticky.  Remember how I said that the Nux/Capable porn practically writes itself? Yeah, but...you do actually have to sit down and type it out.  Oops.  </p>
<p>Maybe I can write something for this fandom that's not dripping with angst? I...wouldn't hold my breath.  </p>
<p>Anyway, less fanfiction than acknowledging the fact that YOU KNOW THEY TOTALLY DID THIS that first night with the Vuvalini. You know it.  </p>
<p>Might as well have a soundtrack:  Apoptygma Berzerk's <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ci_LIavsEhQ"> Kathy's Song </a>, of course.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Luminous

 

Nux was so far from the Citadel, farther than he'd ever been, but he still hadn't outrun the night sweats.  He found himself awake, skin slicking with sweat, the too-familiar queasiness and tremors limping toward him across the sweeping dunes.

Not now, he thought, desperate, not now. Not tonight, of all nights, with Capable curled against him, cheek resting on the scars on his chest, the flames of her hair fanned over his shoulder.  He just wanted one night--one night!--free of sickness, free of pain, one night to imagine what could have been, to live a lifetime in one sweep of the moon.  He'd thought, maybe, he'd been saved for something great after all, but no, it was just fate's cruel joke, another swinging open of the glittering door of promise, only to have it swing shut before his importuning face.  

It was bittersweet enough as it was, to have something he'd never known he wanted, knowing he could only have it for a short time.  It was too cruel, sucking the sweetness out of it till it tasted like ash, to deny him even that much, and the cruelty and unfairness of it lodged in his throat, like a sob, till he nearly retched around it.  

Her hand shifted on his chest, the half-stretch of someone half awake, a sort of delicious drowsiness so different from the half-rest of illness.  

"Nux?"  In the darkness, her voice was the velvet of the universe, sweet and gentle.  

"Fine, I'm fine."  He wasn't fine, so far from it he was answering a question she hadn't asked, the one he was hoping she wouldn’t ask.

She shifted against him, tipping her face up to his, and he had just enough time (he hoped) to compose his face, to look stoically out the window of the rear post.  "Just keeping watch."

"The Vuvalini are doing that for us," she said.  "You ought to rest."  

Rest.  Even if he wasn't dying, how could he rest with someone like her flaming against him, beautiful and vital and alive?

"I don't mind."  

A long silence, and a kind of watchful stillness--he could feel her eyes on him, scanning the lines of his face, his eyes, doubtless seeing the lie written on them.  

"I never did thank you for that kiss," she said, finally, and before he could protest or demur, she'd pushed forward, and he felt her mouth, warm and soft and plush, against his scarred lips. It was a, yeah, a really different kiss from the one he'd given her. Just as spontaneous, perhaps, but his was fast and shy, and hers was slow and long and knowing. She parted his lips with her tongue, like a little blade slicing between them, and he could taste her mouth, sweet and cool as Immortan Joe's Aqua Cola.  Even better, he decided, as she gave a sigh into the kiss, her hand coming up to stroke along his cheek, gliding over the scar and skin together, his devotion and his life.

He felt a surge below his belly, hardening like it hadn't in a long time, since the Organic Mechanic had squinted at his lumps through one of his lenses, and shook his head with a wordless, bleak grunt.

Nux would have been fine dying just as she broke the kiss, right then, his senses filled with her, all her, like a deep pool of cool, clean water.  But he didn't die, and when he opened his eyes, he saw hers gazing into his, and that curve of mischief on her reddened lips.  

"I want you," she said, in a voice so teasingly husky and low that Nux thought he must have misheard her, ears half-deaf from the hammering of his heartbeat, which she had to feel, against her.  But she waited, and he replayed it and...that's what she'd said, that's what she was offering. Offering to him, Nux, the mediocre, the outcaste, the shamed, the failed War Boy, denied Valhalla forever.

He swallowed, but the lump in his throat this time wasn't grief and disappointment and regret knotted up like a rat king, but a kind of glowing promise. Even so, he didn't trust his voice, or his words, so he nodded, his own hands moving to stroke the red hair back from her face as she leaned over him again, one of her cream-tawny legs swinging over his waist.

Her weight was real enough, solid and warm, and she bent low enough over him that her breasts brushed his chest, the fabric grazing over his scarring, teasing his sick flesh alive.

"How should I--?"

"Just lie there," Capable said, leaning in for another kiss, one he tipped his head up to meet, barely wrangling the moan to silence as she nipped his lower lip as she drew away.

His hands fell back, as she sat up, shifting her hair over her shoulders as she unwound the gauzy fabric of her top, and it was a slow show, a revelation, as foot after foot of the fabric unspooled, revealing soft skin, pure and untouched by the sun, the full curves of her breasts, and the dark shapes of her nipples, rising in them.  The moon lighted her body, in blue and indigo, and the stars seemed to catch in her hair like frozen sparks, as she bent down, her fingertips wandering over the scars on his chest and belly, as if the old wounds and the waxy skin of his wasted body was as beautiful as hers.  He saw her tongue, a little dart, flash out, tasting his skin, tracing a line of cheloided skin and he wondered, after all they'd seen, if she thought it was stupid, to mark his body as he had, a devotion of fire and pain, for a god that promised so much but gave so little.  

Capable's hands skimmed over his belly, fingertips dipping under the waistband of his pants, the touch somehow intimate, to touch what  daylight never saw, on the verge of being ticklish, sending tingles like ripples around her fingers over his body, pooling in his groin.

He heard her laugh, a soft chuckle, at first, and he scrambled in embarrassment, trying to figure out what he'd done wrong, to break the heavy spell of her beauty, her touch, and then her eyes met his and kindled the same glint in his own. "I can't figure out your pants."  

He was torn between laughing and helping, and he couldn't manage to do both at once, so maybe he looked a little too earnest, a little too serious, as his hands flew to his trousers, quick and skillful, undoing the buckles and straps that held them closed, held his tools and pouches across his hips. Metal and canvas thunked on the ground and he felt the midnight air across his bared hips, the seams at the top of his thighs, striking against the heat of his erection, struggling free.

"Perfect," she whispered, passing the word from her mouth to his with another of those butterfly brushing kisses, and Nux felt her hair fall on him like silk rain, and her hand dance down over his bare belly, and then a squeeze, exploratory and teasing, on his cock.

"I can't... I mean. I don't know. I've never--"  He’d never been with a woman, never been with anyone, and suddenly the gulf between them seemed to yawn even wider, unpassable, unspannable.

"I know," she said, simply, and all his worries, and all his shame, evaporated, like water on a hot engine block, fizzling away. Of course, she knew everything, he thought, his senses muddled in her as her thighs, on either sides of his hips, surged forward, muscle under satin, and she flung the skirt away from her  so he could see her body, all of it, the swooping lines and curves, softness and firmness giving way to each other easily, seamlessly in a sort of dance, and it was so much to take in he could barely breathe and then she squeezed his cock again, and sank back, and his whole body juddered, lifting as though hydraulic, entering her.

Nux ran out of air, and he sucked in a lungful, fast and deep, as she settled her weight across him, pushing his hips down against the floor of the cab, and began rocking, a slow, steady, pace that sent sinuous lines and waves traveling up her body. He could feel her thighs work against his, see the slide of muscle and bone, and the way her mouth, plush and teasing, was parted just so, just a little bit, just enough for that gentle bite of concentration on her lower lip.  

"Touch me," she whispered, and took his slack, unknowing hands and led them to her, one to palm one of her breasts, feeling the sharp point of her nipple against his hand, the soft weight of it yielding to his touch, the other between her thighs, pushing his fingertips against her, and it was less like he was an ignorant child than that she was initiating him into the sacred mysteries of her body, her pleasure.  He wondered--just for a second--if she'd ever done this like this with Joe, but he knew the answer, almost instantly, an intuitive knowing that this was her first time, like this, taking pleasure for herself, sharing herself with someone else.  

It felt like...more than it probably was, something holy and wonderful and invisible, on top of the rise and fall of her body against his, the slow rise of lust in him, roiling in his belly, stirred and aching by the slick heat against him, the rise of her body, the indigo shapes the moonlight carved from her body, and she writhed like a pale flame against a net of stars, a luminous engine, glowing with the incandescence that lit the world.  

Nux felt it rise, a slow swell like accelerating a heavy car--sluggish at first, but inexorable, and then catching, and then it caught speed, roaring loud in his ears and out of his control, and he couldn’t stop the howl tearing from his throat, burning around the choking pressure on his windpipe, or the way his hands sank into the firm flesh of her thighs, grinding her down against his bucking hips.  He remembered too late where they were, who was around them, but he couldn’t recall the cry, half-wild and desperate, a lifetime’s unmet longing ringing through the night air. 

  
She gave a shudder, her own voice a soft echo of his, like a counterpoint melody, quavering and resonant, and she arched up, as if to look at, or through, the cab’s roof above her, head flung back, hair glittering as though electric, and before Nux could come up with a word for it, she had curved forward, laughing, their cries dying to a silence broken by a soft round of applause from below, knowing and not judging, and Nux met her gaze, blue on green, and realized that this was what he’d wanted, all his life. Not the edged look of a knife-faced god, one who cuts if held too tightly, but the oceanic glow of her gaze, accepting, warm, seeing him for what he was, not what he did, and seeing him as everything, as enough, and more than enough.


End file.
